


Doubt

by lonelyspaghetti



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, I did my best, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 23:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7196174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelyspaghetti/pseuds/lonelyspaghetti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a month since Daphne Trevelyan has been named Inquisitor, and she's already beginning to feel the pressure of her title weighing on her. As she sits and broods in the tavern with her meal one night, she finds the courage to confide in her commander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doubt

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first work for this fandom and was more of a personal character exercise than anything else, so I hope you get something out of it. Leave comments, if you want more I do have more! It would certainly motivate me to keep writing. 
> 
> Set sometime after reaching Skyhold, right after uncovering Old Crestwood and finding Hawke's warden friend.

Daphne sits in the corner of the tavern, thankfully alone, pushing along her peas. Her roast long gone, Daphne has turned her attention to her vegetables, prodding the little beans into a shape vaguely resembling the mark on her left hand. She directs her fork to poke at her fortress of mashed potatoes, the walls of which guard an impressive dam of brown gravy. She scrapes a forkful, mindful not to breach the dam, scoops up some peas, and brings the fork to her mouth.

The food is cold now, which she should have expected, as she is barely hungry and has taken the past thirty minutes to eat roughly three bites. Still, that doesn’t stop her from heaving a bored, disappointed sigh and bitterly dropping her fork onto the table. It clatters against her mug of ale and she slouches forward, resting her chin on her folded forearms. She gazes blankly through her gravy dam and tries in vain to find a hopeful metaphor in its briny depths. She’s barely grown into her title as Inquisitor and already she’s been pulled in all directions – Venatori in the west, rumors of maleficarum in the east, civil war in the heart of Orlais, and the ever-present threat of the mage-Templar war. Daphne blinks back tears and chokes down the anxious bubble in her throat.

It’s been barely a month and she’s already swallowed by her title. Nobody sees her as Daphne anymore. It’s only ever Herald this or Inquisitor that – she’d be grateful even for a Lady Trevelyan, a title she used to detest as it reminded her far too much of her mother, but at least it would be a welcome address of her as a person, not just a figurehead. _I knew what I was getting myself into when I picked up that bloody greatsword,_ she snarks viciously in her head, blowing a pea across her plate. She’s at least thankful for her title in this tavern, as it prevents anyone from being brave enough to approach her.

A shadow falls over the table and she groans, thinking she spoke too soon. Her eyes flicker up from her pea-strewn plate to find the Commander, a plate in one hand and a mug in the other, fighting a losing battle against smiling at the sight before him.

“May I join you, Inquisitor?” he asks, bowing his head respectfully. “I hope I’m not intruding on some battlefield strategy.” Daphne glances down at her plate and concedes that it might look like her peas are positioned to storm her gravy keep.

Daphne sighs and rises from her arms, picking up her fork and pushing the peas around again. “No, you’re not interrupting anything,” she says, her voice thick with some unassessed emotion. Cullen sets his plate and mug down and sinks into the chair opposite her, appraising her hunched posture.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, concern in his voice and eyes. Daphne shrugs.

“I’m just very tired,” she admits. Cullen nods.

“You’ve only been back from Crestwood a day,” he mentions, and Daphne swallows the words that threaten to come out of her mouth: _it’s more than that. It’s more than Crestwood, more than capturing a bloody castle, fighting through undead, and uncovering the horror of Old Crestwood._ Cullen seems to pick up on her inner monologue and continues, “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

Daphne spears a pea on her fork and brings it to her mouth, smooshing it against the roof of her mouth with her tongue. She considers how much she can divulge to her commander. He’s battling his own demons, the signs of lyrium withdrawal evident in the shadows under his eyes and the slight edge in his voice.

“Yes, it’s more than that.” Her voice is tired, defeated, and a little pathetic, even to her own ears. Her shoulders slouch and Cullen’s frown deepens.

“Do you want to talk about it?” _I’d rather a hug, but I suppose talking about it might help too._

“I don’t know how to put into words how I’m really feeling,” Daphne admits. “I might need a few moments to sort things out.” Cullen’s eyes are so warm, so golden and empathetic that, despite the leather coat and scarf and knee-high boots, she feels incredibly and uncomfortably naked. She clears her throat and scoops up some peas before tossing them into her lake of gravy. Cullen looks down at her food and chuckles, and the sound loosens her ribcage.

“You’ve built an impressive structure,” he says, nodding to her potatoes. Daphne flushes slightly and hastily takes a bite. “Certainly defensible.”

“My mother always hated when I played with my food.”

“Oh? What was she like?” Daphne can tell he’s trying to change the subject to make her feel better and she appreciates it, her shoulders straightening. She’d had the privilege of asking him about his family, but nobody had ever inquired after hers, short of wondering if the Inquisition could use the Trevelyan name for leverage.

“My mother is… a very strong-willed woman,” she starts, snorting. “My father certainly oversees the holdings and the finances and he _is_ a Bann, but Lady Eloise is definitely the one in charge.” She takes another careful bite of her potatoes so her dam doesn’t burst.

“Ah,” Cullen sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Would you say that’s where your stubborn streak comes from?”

Daphne scowls and lobs a pea at him. It bounces off his vambrace and rolls onto the floor. “ _Tenacity_ is a virtue among the Marchers, Commander.” He laughs openly and she finds herself smiling in return.

“You said you have siblings?” he leans forward and begins digging into his meal.

Daphne’s heart lurches as she thinks about her brother and sister. “Yes, an older brother who is being groomed to take my father’s seat and an older sister. Eliza.” She thinks of Eliza’s golden braids and wintry blue eyes, sparkling in the sun as they rode along the coast together as children. “She’s only two years older than I am, you know. We were very close.”

“Were?”

Daphne sighs. “She was the first Trevelyan in a very, _very_ long time to show magic. She started a blizzard in her room in Firstfall when she was eight years old. She was disappointed it hadn’t snowed yet and so desperately wanted to make snowmen that she woke up in the middle of the night surrounded by a snowdrift.” Daphne smiles at the memory. “She woke me first, and I was old enough to know what would happen if someone found out, so I made her promise to keep it a secret. That didn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy it, mind you, so of course we built a snowman and had a snowball fight.” The smile slips from her face.

“They found out?” Cullen asks, and she looks up to find him regarding her warily, as a Templar would a mage, but also with unfathomable sadness and guilt. She wonders how many families he’s had to rip apart, but doesn’t let the question out.

“My brother did. We woke him up.” She scowls into her plate. “He woke my parents and they ordered us back to bed, enraged and terrified. Liza had no idea what she’d done wrong. She stayed in my bed, freezing and crying into my shoulder. I started hating James that day, even though I know he’d done the right thing. I know what happens to mages who don’t get the right training… if they don’t learn to control their magic. I don’t fault him now, though it did cause a rift between us.”

“Your parents turned her over then?”

“We waited until after Satinalia to tell the Templars. My parents were decent enough not to force their youngest child to spend her favorite holiday in a lonely tower full of strangers.” Cullen nodded, that dim, guilty look still in his eye.

“I wrote as often as I could. We kept constant communication. They let her visit when she was old enough, but never for more than a few hours, and always under the ever watchful eye of a Templar. She went through her Harrowing at eighteen –”

“That’s rather young for an apprentice,” Cullen says, surprised, and Daphne nods.

“That’s what we were told,” she agrees, smirking. “She naturally took a liking to winter and spirit magic. She’s a gifted healer and has an uncanny connection to the Fade, even for a mage.” She pauses. “First Enchanter Lydia even suggested she might be a Dreamer, but Liza had no interest in that. She wants to become a spirit healer.”

“What happened to her when the Circle fell?” he asks through a mouthful of roast.

Daphne shrugs. “When the First Enchanter came to agreement with the Knight-Commander and declared the Circle’s Neutrality, many mages and Templars simply… left. It wasn’t much of a rebellion. Liza took the first chance she could to come home for good, but she was devastated when the First Enchanter was murdered. My mother had to throw herself at her feet to get her to stay.” She takes a sip of her long-neglected wine. “So as far as I know, she’s still at home, studying on her own to advance her skills. She and my brother had been talking about traveling to Ansburg to study at the university.”

“Is Eliza the reason you chose to help the mages at Redcliffe?” Cullen asks, his voice quiet. Daphne winces and they seem to relive his livid tirade in mutual silence.

“Yes, but only partly so. Eliza was a child when she was taken. I know Hawke’s sister managed to evade the Circle in Kirkwall until she was an adult –” she sees his wince and chooses not to comment – “and I remember Eliza writing to me about how scared children had were when they were brought in. Innocent children ripped from their families because of an accident of fate and the entire world calls them abominations without seeing the small, terrified human in them?” Cullen won’t quite meet her eyes and she softens.

“I know you’ve been through hell.” She leans forward and touches his vambrace, and his eyes flicker from her hand to her face. “You’ve told me you’ve seen the worst of what mages can be, and I believe you. You have your prejudices and I know you’re working to overcome them. I’ve talked to my sister’s Templar… acquaintances. Their burden is far heavier than anyone can imagine. And I truly regret that I couldn’t save both the mages and the Templars…”

“But you had to save the children.” He sighs again and she sees a decade of suffering and guilt settle like a mantle on his shoulders. How long has he had to endure silently? His plate is empty and she hasn’t been hungry for hours, so they stand together and make their way out of the tavern into the cool night air. To any onlooker, they would simply look like the Inquisitor and the Commander, discussing battle strategies. Nobody would notice the way they lean slightly into each other, the way their hands hover mere inches apart, or the way Cullen angles his head to better hear Daphne’s quiet words.

“The children, and the innocent mages who wanted nothing to do with this war, and the Tranquil who can no longer speak or fend for themselves. You know about the shack on the docks…?”

“Yes, I read the report. I can’t even imagine.”

A heavy pause fills the air as they walk toward his tower.

“We’ll find Samson, Cullen.”

He sucks in a breath and his cheeks flush faintly, but his mouth sets in a firm line and he nods solemnly. They’ve made it to the battlements and he turns to face her. “I have every confidence. You’ve yet to fail this Inquisition.”

“And if I do?” Cullen’s gaze shifts sharply from the middle distance to Daphne, who has shifted back onto her left leg, opening distance between them, with her arms crossed over her chest. She doesn’t look like someone who might spring to her own defense in an argument, but like someone who is trying desperately to keep herself held together. Cullen runs a hand through his hair and when he speaks, his voice is thick with an emotion Daphne can’t quite place.

“Daphne…”

She sucks in a breath and looks away, batting back tears. The pressure of her title is threatening to buckle her knees, and she had hoped she could at least make it to her chambers before breaking down into a heap of tears.

“It’s nothing. A joke.” Her voice cracks and betrays her, and Cullen’s hand catches her wrist when she tries to walk away from him. His hand slides into hers and she allows him to pull her closer. His free hand comes to rest on her shoulders and she almost weeps at the warmth, the closeness.

“You’re the first person since I’ve left home to call me by my own name,” she whispers, staring forlornly at his chest. Cullen groans and brings her close, wrapping his arms around her and resting his cheek against her hair. She hopes against hope that it still smells like embrium and sage from her bath late last night. She folds her arms into her chest and lets his tall frame and long arms encircle her. A few silent tears trickle down her face but she manages to keep her shoulders from shaking. She angles her face into his neck and her eyelashes brushing against his skin seems like too much intimacy, for he drops his arms slowly and steps back a respectable amount.

_Seems I got my hug after all._

“Thank you,” she murmurs, wiping at the tears tracked on her cheeks. Cullen attempts a half-smile. “That… meant a lot. You give excellent hugs.”

“I’m glad,” he finally says. “If there’s anything I can do…” he steps forward like he’s about to reach for her hand, but Daphne shrugs again.

“Just… listen to me complain sometimes. And don’t call me Inquisitor all the time. And an occasional hug on the moonlit battlements wouldn’t hurt.” Her rambling list ends with a blush and she stares intently at his shoulder, blushing as a laugh rumbles in his chest.

“I am yours to command, my lady.” Her blush intensifies and she grumbles something along the lines of ‘don’t call me that either,’ gaze now fixated on her shoes. He leads her into his tower and leans against the ladder up to his loft. “Good night, Daphne.”

The air is thick with a vulnerability and intimacy that begs for a good night kiss, but such an action would be inappropriate and presumptuous on both their ends. The most either had accomplished was awkward flirting over a chessboard and, only now, a tearful hug (on her part), so she curbs the dreamy smile and backs toward the door, hoping to maintain some semblance of intense, meaningful eye contact as she replies, “good night, Cullen.”

Her hand is on the door and he is two rungs up the ladder when he speaks again: “For what it’s worth, I’ve never for one second doubted your abilities.”

She smiles at the door and pushes it open, her heart pounding as she strides toward the castle.

 


End file.
